Mejia, Familia making it big together in Mets' bullpen

The Mejia family needed the money. So each morning, Jenrry Mejia made the half-hour walk to a cafe lugging his shoe polish and brush.

School would have to wait until later in the day.

"I had to help my family," Mejia said in a quiet moment in the Mets clubhouse. "I was 10 years old. My family didn’t [earn] a lot of money. I saw my father work a lot. I said, ‘I got to do something.’ "

The downtown cafe in Santo Domingo — the capital of the Dominican Republic — was a long way from the big leagues, where that boy would find himself more than a decade later. The Mets closer had yet to throw a pitch. Mejia had yet to even seriously play baseball, admitting "I [didn’t] like to play."

But on the road to the majors, he discovered more than a path out of poverty. He found a kindred spirit in Jeurys Familia, another Dominican from humble beginnings born just one day earlier than him in October 1989.

Seven years after they signed with the Mets as raw, 17-year-old prospects, the close friends form a high-energy, high-velocity back end of a suddenly dependable bullpen.

"We’re like brothers," Familia said.

"We’re like twins," Mejia added. "We were born almost the same day. He comes in the eighth. I come in the ninth.

Mejia (3.68 ERA, 77 strikeouts in 73 1/3 innings) has converted 17 saves in 19 tries since becoming the closer in May. Familia has posted a 1.86 ERA in 58 innings, emerging as one of baseball’s best middle relievers.

And the 24-year-old right-handers both bring serious velocity — Familia throws in the high 90s, Mejia in the mid-90s.

"They certainly changed the way our bullpen has looked, the fact that you’ve got power arms at the back," manager Terry Collins said. "It’s kind of like everybody else in the league now. …

"We’ve got those animals, too."

The friendship began in 2007, when the duo found themselves at the Mets’ Dominican complex in Boca Chica.

"Something clicked between them," said Juan Henderson, the administrator of the Mets’ Dominican academy.

"They were doing everything together.

"Mejia’s more outgoing. He likes to talk a lot. Familia’s more reserved. One complements the other."

Both grew up impoverished and avoiding a game treated like a religion in the Dominican.

Mejia shined shoes from age 10, not an uncommon practice in the Dominican, according to Henderson.

"Sometimes what the dad makes is not enough to support the family," he said. "So the kids unfortunately have to become a man a little sooner than they should.

"Sometimes they see baseball as a way out."

Mejia and Familia did not. At least not on their own.

Mejia’s mother, a nurse, caught him lounging around the house at age 15 between work in the morning and school in the afternoon. She ordered him to go play the game.

Familia had thought his road out of poverty was basketball. But he tired of finding himself alone on the court when everyone else was on the diamond.

Neither was very good at first, learning the game as they went. But buscones — men who serve as both coaches and street agents — saw potential. Familia’s impressive size — 6-foot-3, 240 pounds — was especially attractive.

"He told me, ‘You can be a good player in the major leagues,’ " Familia said.

"He took my hand and said, ‘You could be a good pitcher.’ "

Mejia signed for $16,500. Familia signed a few months later for $100,000.

"I never saw that much money before," Mejia said.

But the climb to the big leagues was steep, especially for international players signed as unprepared teenagers.

"The first time we came here we didn’t know anything," Familia said. "You’re alone. We didn’t know English. We don’t like the food here.

"But if you have one person you can trust, I think it makes things a lot easier."

That person was Mejia.

After Familia bought McDonald’s every day for a year because he didn’t like American cuisine, the pitchers began cooking for one another — mostly chicken and rice and beans — and sharing household duties such as washing dishes.

Nights were spent at the movies, playing dominos or searching for Dominican restaurants. Time together felt like a little piece of home.

And they pushed each other, critiquing each other’s mechanics, their pitches.

They dreamed of becoming All-Star starters.

Instead the shoeshine boy and the basketball player have become dominant relievers.

Mejia, Familia making it big together in Mets' bullpen

The Mejia family needed the money. So each morning, Jenrry Mejia made the half-hour walk to a cafe lugging his shoe polish and brush.

School would have to wait until later in the day.

"I had to help my family," Mejia said in a quiet moment in the Mets clubhouse. "I was 10 years old. My family didn’t [earn] a lot of money. I saw my father work a lot. I said, ‘I got to do something.’ "

The downtown cafe in Santo Domingo — the capital of the Dominican Republic — was a long way from the big leagues, where that boy would find himself more than a decade later. The Mets closer had yet to throw a pitch. Mejia had yet to even seriously play baseball, admitting "I [didn’t] like to play."

But on the road to the majors, he discovered more than a path out of poverty. He found a kindred spirit in Jeurys Familia, another Dominican from humble beginnings born just one day earlier than him in October 1989.

Seven years after they signed with the Mets as raw, 17-year-old prospects, the close friends form a high-energy, high-velocity back end of a suddenly dependable bullpen.

"We’re like brothers," Familia said.

"We’re like twins," Mejia added. "We were born almost the same day. He comes in the eighth. I come in the ninth.

Mejia (3.68 ERA, 77 strikeouts in 73 1/3 innings) has converted 17 saves in 19 tries since becoming the closer in May. Familia has posted a 1.86 ERA in 58 innings, emerging as one of baseball’s best middle relievers.

And the 24-year-old right-handers both bring serious velocity — Familia throws in the high 90s, Mejia in the mid-90s.

"They certainly changed the way our bullpen has looked, the fact that you’ve got power arms at the back," manager Terry Collins said. "It’s kind of like everybody else in the league now. …

"We’ve got those animals, too."

The friendship began in 2007, when the duo found themselves at the Mets’ Dominican complex in Boca Chica.

"Something clicked between them," said Juan Henderson, the administrator of the Mets’ Dominican academy.

"They were doing everything together.

"Mejia’s more outgoing. He likes to talk a lot. Familia’s more reserved. One complements the other."

Both grew up impoverished and avoiding a game treated like a religion in the Dominican.

Mejia shined shoes from age 10, not an uncommon practice in the Dominican, according to Henderson.

"Sometimes what the dad makes is not enough to support the family," he said. "So the kids unfortunately have to become a man a little sooner than they should.

"Sometimes they see baseball as a way out."

Mejia and Familia did not. At least not on their own.

Mejia’s mother, a nurse, caught him lounging around the house at age 15 between work in the morning and school in the afternoon. She ordered him to go play the game.

Familia had thought his road out of poverty was basketball. But he tired of finding himself alone on the court when everyone else was on the diamond.

Neither was very good at first, learning the game as they went. But buscones — men who serve as both coaches and street agents — saw potential. Familia’s impressive size — 6-foot-3, 240 pounds — was especially attractive.

"He told me, ‘You can be a good player in the major leagues,’ " Familia said.

"He took my hand and said, ‘You could be a good pitcher.’ "

Mejia signed for $16,500. Familia signed a few months later for $100,000.

"I never saw that much money before," Mejia said.

But the climb to the big leagues was steep, especially for international players signed as unprepared teenagers.

"The first time we came here we didn’t know anything," Familia said. "You’re alone. We didn’t know English. We don’t like the food here.

"But if you have one person you can trust, I think it makes things a lot easier."

That person was Mejia.

After Familia bought McDonald’s every day for a year because he didn’t like American cuisine, the pitchers began cooking for one another — mostly chicken and rice and beans — and sharing household duties such as washing dishes.

Nights were spent at the movies, playing dominos or searching for Dominican restaurants. Time together felt like a little piece of home.

And they pushed each other, critiquing each other’s mechanics, their pitches.

They dreamed of becoming All-Star starters.

Instead the shoeshine boy and the basketball player have become dominant relievers.